


Treasure

by Arianwen44



Category: Lovers Doll, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Lover's Doll, M/M, Thorin Is an Idiot, Universe where dolls come to life because of their owners love, bagginshield, fic based off of a manga, hobbit au, tiny Thorin stomping around making everyone call him 'your majesty'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:09:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5229848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianwen44/pseuds/Arianwen44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He only comes to life when his owner loves him enough, but no matter how many times he goes through it, he always ends up with the title of ‘monster’ or ‘demon’. Maybe this time will be different?</p>
<p>Bilbo Baggins has always enjoyed a calm life to himself. But with his calm life, comes a horrible sense of loneliness. Then for his birthday, Gandalf decides to bring him a little gift, a small doll to keep him company. Yet when the doll starts coming to life and declaring that Bilbo is his new master, things get a little more hectic than Bilbo had originally thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little King

            Bilbo Baggins was used to a simple life.

            He had stepped outside from Bag End for a quick breath of air and a smoke on his pipe, needing to be away from the festivities for a short moment to regain his bearings and his head. He had invited a few friends over for a birthday celebration, and things were as lively as ever, and as merry as hobbits could possibly make it. There were games out in the back garden, little hobbit-children running around the flowerbeds searching for little buried bags of sweets that he had put out to keep them entertained. The rest of the party was held around their chaos and inside the house, bright lights shimmering from the little round windows and out the front door that Bilbo was stepping from with his pipe in hand.      

He teetered down the front pathway to his bench, for he was a little flushed with drink, the bench was happily situated beside a pretty little bush of roses and decorated with yellow and white polka-dotted cushions. Sitting down he lit the pipe he hooked one knee on top of the other and leaned back on his bench, comfortably seated on the cushions and enjoying his pipe. There was a lovely, gentle breeze that blew through his brown curls, and he tilted his head back to enjoy the late summer night air. Across the Shire he could see the last remnants of the sunset that had blazed through the sky not an hour before, and down the long, winding path he could see the tiny glittering lights of the rest of the village. Inside he could hear the clatter of plates and laughter, and he knew he would have to re-join the party soon, he couldn’t appear rude to the guests who had shown up to pay him birthday congratulations.

He loved the calm, quiet of his little house in the Shire, but somehow he couldn’t help but feel a little lonesome sometimes. Sure he enjoyed the calm of his day-to-day routine, the comfort of a good meal and the stability that was home, even the occasional party, which was chaos enough, but something nagged at the back of his head, the annoying sense that something was missing in his life.

“Now what are you doing out here? I thought the party was supposed to be a birthday party, and here is the guest of honor, sitting outside and neglecting his guests!” came a voice from beside him. Bilbo jerked and looked up to see a weathered old man with grey robes and a tattered hat. His long, silvery-grey beard reached to his mid-chest and his eyes glittered merrily.

“Gandalf?” at a loss for anything else to say to the old wizard, Bilbo made a haughty, yet playful expression, “You’re late!”

Shaking his head, the man sat down beside him when Bilbo shifted to make room for him. Almost instantly, Gandalf whipped out a pipe of his own and began to smoke with him, blowing perfect smoke rings from it and smiling at Bilbo who tried, albeit a little clumsily, to do the same. Bilbo had known the old wizard since he was young, but the man never seemed to change. Though most in the Shire didn’t seem to care much for him, Bilbo never neglected to invite him to a party or a gathering, and somehow all of his invitations went answered, and he had to wonder how the wizard got his letters if he wandered the many lands as often as he did.

“Oh yes, I think I should give you your gift before we go back inside, see I might forget and I’d rather not realize that I still have it when I’m miles away from here again,” the man chuckled heartily and reached into his robes. When Bilbo had been small he had remembered those robes producing all sorts of strange little things, wooden swords, fire-crackers, candied sweets, even a cat or two. Gandalf brought a small package wrapped in brown paper and string from somewhere in his pockets and handed it to Bilbo.

“You do know I asked for no gifts, but it seems you, and half of my guests ignored that little note on the invitation, though you wouldn’t _believe_ the horrible set of crockery that Lobelia gave me before she tried to leave with my spoons for the fifteenth time,” he made a little disgusted face by wrinkling his nose and furrowing his brow, “I swear that woman has no taste whatsoever!” the wizard chuckled as Bilbo made to unwrap the strings and paper carefully.

When the paper fell away he was amazed to see a small dwarf doll sitting on his lap, yet the doll wasn’t like the sweet little things that hobbit lasses played with and dressed up. This one was a more decorative doll, a stern face with thick eyebrows and black hair; his glass eyes were a piercing blue that sent a slight shiver up Bilbo’s spine. Two braids of hair hung down from the doll’s head and were clasped with intricate silver beads, and his outfit was even more detailed. The fabric was clearly well made and was embroidered with geometric patterns in green and gold with little blue hues. At the doll’s chest the clothes were clasped with a glittering opal stone that shimmered and almost seemed to glow, the doll was beautiful, and Bilbo smiled kindly at it.

Until he noticed Gandalf looking and he flushed and made a show of putting the paper down, “Thank you, but I am a little old to be playing with dolls don’t you think?” he gave a pointed look to the man, who only shrugged.

“I found him on my travels, and thought he was interesting, you could use a little company you know. There’s quite a fantastic story that goes along with him too,” he pointed out as Bilbo was fidgeting with the doll’s rich clothing, “I heard from someone that this doll has quite a reputation,”

Frowning at him, Bilbo looked between Gandalf and the doll, “How could a doll have a reputation? It’s a doll Gandalf,”

“Well this one does, and it’s said that it comes to life and attacks whoever owns it!” he raised his arms dramatically and wiggled his fingers, but Bilbo only gave him an unimpressed glare. “Or so I heard…” he smirked back at the hobbit who rolled his eyes.

“Really… you can’t think you’ll scare me with a horrible story like that. Dolls don’t come to life, I’m not some frightened little child you know,” yet still, he gave the stern-looking doll a wary glance. It looked very proud, but also quite handsome, somehow Bilbo couldn’t think that the doll could be evil, it was far too cute. Instead he smiled at the doll, “Besides, I think it’s a rather pretty doll, I like it,”

“Alright, seems like he’s got a new home then,” the wizard waved his hand dismissively with a cheerful twinkle in his eye. “I think we should re-join the party, or those guests of yours might start breaking those foul crockery sets you told me about,” the wizard got up and headed towards the door, pausing and waiting for Bilbo to snuff out his pipe and join him.

The hobbit scoffed, “I should make that into a party game.”

 

* * *

 

The guests had all gone by two in the morning, and Bilbo was just finishing up cleaning all of the dishes and hiding those horrible dishes from Lobelia where he wouldn’t ever have to see them. He stacked the last plate on the shelf and closed the door of the cupboard, taking stock of his larder and making a small list for when he went into the market for food the next day. He sat down in his comfortable armchair a few moments later with a warm cup of tea and a plate of biscuits, warming his feet by the fire with his late-night snack before he went to bed.

The quiet of the house was rather heavy that night, especially after it had been so lively earlier. Though the crackle and hiss of the fire in the hearth was comforting, Bilbo still found the silence a little too oppressive. He sipped at his tea and nibbled on a biscuit to chase the feeling away, shifting in his multi-coloured housecoat and feeling his eyes grow heavier. It had been a cheerful party, but he still grew slightly depressed after events like this, mostly after the final guest leaves, which had been Gandalf. The wizard had waved merrily to Bilbo at the end of the pathway before closing the gate and seemingly vanishing into nothing in the darkness. Bilbo sighed and felt his head loll forward, the weight of the silence pushing down on his shoulders almost physically at this point. 

At that moment he heard something clatter to the floor in the other room, and drowsily he looked up. The sound had come from the kitchen, thinking that a bird or a mouse had gotten in; Bilbo rose and shuffled to the room so he could peek in and see what had made the sound. When he peered about, all he saw was a wooden spoon lying on the floor by the counter. He went to pick it up but his eyes caught a flash of blue and he jerked backwards in surprise, the doll that Gandalf had given him was sitting on the counter, his serious little face just as stern as it had been earlier on the front porch. He had placed the doll there when he was doing the dishes, for it felt nice to have a little company while doing his chores, even if it was just a doll.

“Must’ve left the spoon too close to the edge…” he muttered, picking it up and putting it in it’s rightful place. Yawning sleepily he shut the window in the kitchen and gave the little doll a smile and a nod, stretching and turning to head off to bed.

“Is that it? Not even going to say goodnight? You’re rather rude you know!” came a voice, making Bilbo freeze in his tracks and frown, his head swiveling to see if there was still a guest left over from the party that had possibly just fallen asleep and forgotten where they were. But he saw no one, and nobody came to him, and he scratched his brown curls in confusion.

“You’re not even looking at me while I’m talking, I think you’re being _very_ rude!” the deep voice came again and this time it was from behind. Whirling about in a flurry of multi-coloured housecoat, Bilbo grabbed the nearest weapon, a spatula, and raised it up in defense.

No one was there. He was alone and facing the counter where the doll was sitting, someone couldn’t have spoken from outside, the window was closed. He was growing even more confused by the second, and he stood up straighter. “Whoever is there, show yourself! Or believe me I’ll find a better weapon!” He sidled a little closer to the stove where his iron skillet was sitting, slowly making to grab it.

“What kind of weapon? A _fork?_ How frightening…” the voice sounded unamused.

“Show yourself!” shouted Bilbo as he snatched the skillet and raised it, his heart hammering in his chest and every kind of ghost story from his childhood putting his mind on full alert and nearly sending him into a panic.

“Relax! Mahal you’re jumpy…” that was when he saw the doll on the counter, and Bilbo nearly dropped the skillet on his foot. The doll had _moved._ It was sitting with its arms crossed over its chest and one of its legs hooked over the other, tapping the side of the counter haughtily. Bilbo’s mouth dropped and he stared, and stared, and stared. The doll raised an eyebrow, “Staring is _also_ rude,” he said. 

Still keeping a tight grip on his skillet, Bilbo lowered it so it, hopefully, wouldn’t fall on his feet too hard if he managed to lose his hold somehow. He carefully inched forward, trying to blink and see if he was only imagining things. Every time he blinked though, the doll seemed to grow even more agitated. 

“You’re a lot quieter than my former owners, though I guess I could get used to that,” the doll said with a huff, the silver beads in his braided hair clicking together while he shifted on the spot.

“Well, dolls aren’t supposed to move, you see,” he managed to speak shakily. 

The doll waved a hand, “I’m not like regular ‘dolls’ see, I have a soul. I can move and assume human form as long as my owner loves me, and since it’s still the first night, I’m guessing you must like me a lot. You have a very interesting home, not as grand as the many places I’ve been in but I guess I can get used to that too,” the doll flexed his fingers. “You’re still staring, and as I said, it’s _rude,”_

“Says the talking doll that is sitting on my counter and criticizing my house,” Bilbo said, never thinking that he would ever have put those words together in a sentence. Now that he looked at it, the doll no longer looked like it was made of glass and fabric, though the clothing looked authentic. No, the doll now looked like it was possibly flesh and blood, albeit still the size of a doll, and still probably a very strange dream induced from too much strawberry wine, food and sleep-deprivation. 

“I can do that. I’m a _king!”_ the doll held his head proudly, the beads clicking together again. At this, Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh, holding his hand to his mouth and smiling in amusement. The doll continued to look very offended and ground his teeth, glaring his piercing blue glare at Bilbo. “I am! You’re very impolite! How did I get here anyways? Get me off of here!” he kicked his little legs and Bilbo shook his head at him in disbelieve.

“A king huh? Okay… what kind of elaborate joke is this? You were a birthday present that Gandalf the wizard brought me, he said you had a reputation for attacking your owners, but if _this_ is what he meant then I’m pretty sure that I can handle it,” he waved a hand dismissively, “So you come to life when someone loves you?”

Appearing to like this change in conversation, the doll nodded, “Yes, and you don’t seem to have changed your mind either. Normally I come to life, then my owner starts to curse me and call me names, like ‘monster’ or some such nonsense, then I change back into a doll again before I can even explain,” the doll’s eyes grew a little sad, but he shook it away as quickly as it had appeared. “You are my new owner, and I would like to introduce myself,” getting up and standing before Bilbo on the counter, the doll brushed off his luxurious robes and gave him a little bow that Bilbo couldn’t help but find adorable. “I am Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, at your service!”

The gesture was so absurd, so strange and so adorable that Bilbo scoffed again, earning another snarl from the doll. Before the doll could retort with another ‘rude’ comment, he held out his hand comically to the doll, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bilbo Baggins at yours,” 

“Well, seems like you _do_ have some manners!” Thorin shook one of Bilbo’s fingers, his own hand small enough to maybe fit around two but not enough for a proper handshake.

“Now that we’ve been properly… acquainted, I would like to go to bed. It is quite late and quite frankly I think it’s time for this dream to finish,” said Bilbo, putting the skillet back down onto the stove and pressing his hands to the small of his back in a stretch. “Goodnight, little king,” he giggled as he turned away to go to bed, having had quite enough of this silly dream. He must have fallen asleep in front of the fireplace again, like he often did with a good book and a cup of tea.

But an indignant huff came from behind him, “You’re just going to leave me here? You’re a terrible owner!”

“Ah yes, I must be polite to my little guest,” going along with his dream, Bilbo picked up the small doll-now-human, who squirmed and fussed as he carried him to the guest room. Gently putting Thorin down, Bilbo made a show of tucking him into the bed and snuffing out the candles. “Goodnight my little guest, hopefully I wake up soon and this will all just be a silly memory,” 

“Then you’re in for a rude awakening tomorrow.” Said the doll as Bilbo waved his hand and left the room, dousing the fire in the sitting room before shuffling to his room and collapsing into the bed. He knew he would have a horrible hangover in the morning, but at least this strange dream would be nothing more than that, a dream, when he woke.

He didn’t know how wrong he was as he snuggled into his home-sewn quilts.


	2. Blackberry Cobbler

Waking up the next morning was quite a feat, Bilbo’s head felt like it was filled with heavy rocks and as if his limbs were weighed down with millstones. He rolled over in his quilts, groaning as he pressed his hand to his face and sighed heavily, his arms flopping to his sides. He forced himself to sit up after a time, and the headache, surprisingly, wasn’t as bad as he thought it could be. Yawning sleepily he glanced to the window and saw that the sun was already up and climbing in the sky, telling him that it was already mid-morning and that he had missed his first breakfast. He would have to start his day with elevensies, which after a night like the night before, probably wouldn’t be so terrible.

            He had a faint memory of a funny little dream he had had, of a doll coming to life and telling him how rude he was acting, but he knew it had only been that. A dream.

            The thought of food and a remedy for his hangover spurred Bilbo to rising from his bed and moving into the kitchen. He shambled about, making a strong coffee and opening up all of the windows of the house to get a pleasant, refreshing breeze to blow through. Sipping on his coffee, he went to the front door and stepped outside, squinting in the bright sunlight while he wobbled down to the mailbox to check for any letters. The birds sang and twittered in the trees and throughout his front garden, and a few fat, yellow honeybees hovered around his roses. Still only dressed in his housecoat, Bilbo waved to Hamfast Gamgee as he passed by on his way to market, swapping more birthday congratulations as he went. He took a tiny bundle of letters from the mailbox and went back to the door, absentmindedly flipping through them while his head cleared.

            His normal morning routine relaxed him, and his headache soon eased while he started breakfast, already reading through a letter to him from one of his cousins rambling about a soon-approaching wedding. He was just setting up his skillet and bringing out a few sausages from his larder, humming contentedly to himself.

            “You’re cheerful, and very active for someone who should be suffering a terrible hangover,” Bilbo nearly dropped the wrapped package of sausages when he heard a voice, he spun about and nearly jumped clean out of his housecoat when he spotted a tall, tall being an understatement because many others were taller than hobbits, a tall man with wavy, raven-black hair braided with beads. The man wore richly embroidered clothing and an opalescent clasp at his throat, and he looked quite handsome. Yet Bilbo didn’t get the chance to admire him, for instinctively he brought the skillet about and smacked him in the face with a loud _bong!_ and a loud yelp of surprise from the man.

            “What are you doing in my house? I demand you tell me how you got here!” he raised the skillet as the man picked himself off the floor with a few dramatic groans of pain. He was rubbing the side of his face, which was now rather red from where the skillet had connected to him. 

            “How dare you hit me? You’re so abusive!” Bilbo saw the man change, and he became the size of the doll that Gandalf had given him the night before.

            Falling back against the stove, thankfully it wasn’t on, Bilbo stared, and stared, and stared. “Y-you’re real?” he managed to choke out after a second.

            “I do recall that I said staring is _rude_. So is hitting me! I’m a king! You shouldn’t raise a hand to me, let alone a damned skillet!” the little doll stomped on the floor, but it only resulted in tiny little tapping sounds. Bilbo shook himself, staring at the doll, then picked him up by the ‘scruff’ of his costume and stared at the little squirming thing before him. “Put me down! This is beyond insulting!”

            He paused, “You’re very loud, for a hallucination,”

            Thorin glared at him, stopping in his struggling and crossing his arms, “And you’re very stubborn, for a master,” 

            A smile graced Bilbo’s face then, and he placed the doll-turned-human on the kitchen table and replaced the skillet to the stove and lit the fire. “So, you’re not a hallucination?”

            “No! Of course not, I have a soul,” Thorin stood on the table, but somehow Bilbo really couldn’t take him seriously. He stood at about the same height as one of Bilbo’s cookie jars, and one of the cookies would have been about half the size of him. 

            “How does that work, a doll having a soul?” Bilbo started the sausages in the pan and moved to collect some eggs that were sitting in a straw basket he had brought out earlier.

            The doll named Thorin sat down with his back to the exact cookie jar that Bilbo had been comparing his height too, “I explained it already: as long as my owner loves me then I can come to life. It’s really no more complex than that, it’s just the way things are, though I suppose I should say thank you… I haven’t been able to move after the first night before, ” he flexed his little hands and looked at his palms, and Bilbo observed that he was still very lifelike, despite being only five inches tall.

            As he cooked his breakfast, Bilbo leaned against the counter, thinking the other’s words through carefully in his head. Obviously this wasn’t a dream, he may have been a bit of a dense hobbit, but he learned quickly at least. Gandalf might know more about the doll, so perhaps he could write a letter and send it to the wizard to get a few answers to his questions, answers that the doll may not be able to provide him with. He plated his food and sat down at the table, picking at the sausages while still in thought, until he spotted Thorin stealing one off of his plate.

            “Hey! That’s mine!” he jabbed his fork into the sausage and a piece ripped off, causing Thorin to fall backwards.

            “I may just be a doll, but I can eat now too, besides it’s _rude_ to eat in front of someone, even if that someone is a doll. Though I am much more sophisticated than a common child’s toy, but you already know that,” he sat down, nibbling at the piece of sausage in his hands. 

            Snickering with amusement, here he went pointing out manners again. Bilbo sighed, “Alright, yes I know you’re a ‘king’. I would have thought you would have more etiquette in you to know that taking from other people’s plates is _also_ rude, Mr. King Under the Table.”

            “ _Mountain!_ And I can do what I please!”

            He poked the doll in the chest with the blunt end of his fork, making him yelp. Bilbo couldn’t help but smile, albeit a little affectionately, at this, “Not when you’re five inches tall and living under my roof,” 

            Thorin puffed out his chest, “You’ve already seen that I can take on a life-sized height, so I can do what I want. All _you_ have to do is love me, that’s the only thing I need,” he crossed his arms, a common habit of his it seemed.

             “If you’re going to live here then we’re going to have to work together, I’m heading out to the market after breakfast to mail a letter, and re-stock my larder, so you can do a few things while you’re here on your own,” Bilbo grabbed a piece of parchment from a stack by his letters, snatched up a quill and began to write out a list.

            Though stubborn, Thorin inched closer to the parchment and peered over it to see what Bilbo was scratching down. He started to read the things aloud, “Clean dishes… wash tables… do the laundry… what is all of this?” 

            “A list of things you can do while I’m out today,” trilled the hobbit cheerfully.

             “What?!” Thorin pulled back, completely shocked.

            “If you’re living here you have to pull your weight, besides I have many things to do during the day so you can pitch in a little. Be happy I’m not making you weed the garden you stubborn piece of glass!” he wiggled the tip of the quill in Thorin’s face and caused him to sneeze.

            This only miffed him more, and the doll growled, “Polished _porcelain!_ And I’m not a slave! My only job is to let you love me,” he turned his nose up at the list.

            “Well that’s what the difference between being a doll and being alive is, you have to do more when you’re alive. Besides, I’m trusting you with my precious home, which you also share with me, don’t you find that a little honorable?” Bilbo rose from his chair and put the dishes in the washbasin with a cheeky look on his face.

            A tiny red flush appeared on Thorin’s cheeks, but he continued to sulk and not meet Bilbo’s gaze. It was a moment or two before he crossly muttered, “Fine…”

            “Good! I look forward to seeing things when I get back. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to write my letter,” he offered a hand to the doll to take, and he brought Thorin, and a plate of crackers and cheese, into his study to write a very thorough letter to Gandalf.

 

* * *

  

            Bilbo was trotting up the path to his home with his shopping basket full to bursting with fresh vegetables, fruits and assorted foods from the market. It was just about time for supper when he could see the familiar sight of Bag End as he rounded a hill and garden fence. The comforting sight of the green door eased him, but something else had him walking with a little skip in his step. He liked having someone, even though it was only a strange doll that came to life and sassed him about his manners, waiting for him when he went home.

            Wiping his feet off on the mat, he swung the round door inwards and throughout the house he was met with silence. Worried for a moment that his little guest had merely been just a dream after all, he dropped his shopping off on the kitchen table and looked around.

            “Thorin?” he called, looking underneath the table and around the house at a five-inch height, wondering if he had actually dreamed the whole thing up in the first place.

            That was when he heard an indignant grunt from a room near the back of the house, and he moved cautiously along the hallway to investigate. When he turned the corner, he found a larger, technically dwarf-sized but life-sized Thorin sitting amidst piles of ruffled and half-folded towels. He was looking quite disheveled with one of Bilbo’s pink guest towels sitting across one eye and hiding part of his head, and the hobbit held a hand to his mouth to keep himself from laughing too suddenly.

            “What in the world are you doing?” he choked out, earning a dark, frustrated glare from Thorin. 

            “What you _ordered_ me to do! These confounded sheets and towels were almost all folded, but then I bumped into the table holding the basket and they all tried to suffocate me!” he tossed one of the towels at Bilbo, who caught it in one hand and looked it over, before he grinned at the other.

            “Thank you! I saw you had done the dishes, how about we go to the kitchen? I have a surprise for you. A little thank you for doing all the chores for me, now I have time to make us a nice supper,” he offered a hand to Thorin, who wrinkled his mouth in a grimace, but took it as the hobbit hauled him to his feet. That was when Bilbo realized that Thorin was far taller than he was, and he was reduced to craning his neck a bit so he could look at him.

            Bilbo twitched his nose in a sniff, and led the other into the kitchen. From his larder he produced the last of a blackberry cobbler he had made, put it on a plate and placed it before Thorin on the table with a fork next to it. The dwarf stared at it for a second, then looked to Bilbo, “What is this?” it was more of a curious question than a demand, and Bilbo went about the kitchen preparing the food he would need for dinner.

            “Blackberry cobbler, if you like it I can make another for dessert tomorrow if you’d like.” he found he enjoyed talking to Thorin, even if he was a doll. It lightened the silence of the house and brought a rosy hint to his cheeks, something that he hadn’t even known he had been missing. 

Thorin looked back to the cobbler in front of him, took some on a fork and sniffed it, and popped the bite into his mouth. His expression changed and he went for a second bite almost exactly as he was swallowing the first. To say the least, the cobbler was gone within moments, and both Bilbo and Thorin settled into a pleasant evening. Though they argued here and there, it never grew past a flick on the nose or a short word, it was more of a pleasant bickering than anything, and Bilbo soon forgot about what that silence that filled the house used to feel like.

He also found out that Thorin's favourite snack was soon turning out to be his blackberry cobbler, and he stored that information away for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the update guys! Basically just sweet fluffies that will probably rot your teeth xD 
> 
> I will apologize, but my updates will not be as quick as this. I'm on a roll with writing but I do have a lot of work in the next coming weeks, so there might be long waits between chapters. 
> 
> I RARELY give up on a fanfiction, I will always update them if I can, so bear with the long waits guys! I look forward to hearing more comments from you all!!
> 
> Here is some art I doodled for this!! http://arianwen44.tumblr.com/post/133446851189/a-little-late-night-doodle-for-my-new-fanfiction


	3. Beads

Weeks passed, and surprisingly Bilbo had grown rather accustomed to his new houseguest. He had taught Thorin how to properly fold the linens, though he had to rescue him out from under a few more avalanches every now and again, which never failed to make him smile. It took a few dinners before he worked out what Thorin enjoyed eating, which mostly included meat and his blackberry cobbler, but also consisted of corn bread with butter, and shockingly tea with blueberry muffins. 

The summer was still going strong, and Bilbo was outside busy tending to his garden in the back of the house. He was up to his elbows in soil, pulling weeds away from his tomatoes and his carrot beds. He loved being outside, and especially in his garden surrounded by growing things and the smell of rich earth. A honeybee buzzed past him and landed on a nearby tomato flower, pausing for a moment before it went on its hovering way. It was just after lunchtime, and he was perfectly content in staying in his garden for the rest of the day, or at least until it was time to make dinner. He knew he couldn’t trust Thorin in the kitchen, he had tried to get him to make breakfast one morning, and ended up with mushy eggs, bacon burned to the point that Bilbo couldn’t tell if it was bacon or charcoal, and hacked-up toast with chunks of butter that Thorin explained frustrated him so much that he had to ‘fight’ back.

He was tossing a bundle of pesky weeds into his wheelbarrow, brushing his forehead of sweat with the back of his hand. He sat back on his heels, glancing just up at the blue sky just as a few sparrows flitted by. He was quite happy; especially that he was able to take all that had changed in stride. His letter had been sent to Gandalf, but he still hadn’t gotten a reply back. He had so many questions, but he wasn’t exactly sure if he could ask Thorin what exactly happened to make him this way. Whether or not he was an actual doll, or something had changed him to make him come to life and change size. He wasn’t sure if it would be insulting to Thorin if he asked, so he waited patiently for Gandalf’s letter to arrive, which meant getting up each morning and rushing down to check the mailbox.

Lost in his thoughts, Bilbo jumped when he heard a loud crash and the sickening sound of breaking glass from inside. He whipped his head about to see what had happened, and only heard loud, angry growling from the open window by the back of the house. The hobbit rushed to his feet and ran inside, dusting the dirt from his hands on his gardening clothes while he went.

He found Thorin standing in the hall one or two piles of broken glass lying at his feet and his hands holding an equally shattered piece. Blood dripped from his hands, and Bilbo spotted the box on the shelf that was slightly open, where he had hidden the disgusting crockery from his Sackville-Baggins relatives. He stood there with his eyes looking between Thorin and the broken china, before he rushed over.

“Are you alright? Your hands are bleeding,” he narrowly avoided some of the broken pieces on the floor, taking one of Thorin’s hands in his own. The other flinched and tried to pull back, but he paused when the hobbit gave him a gentle tug. He allowed him to turn his hand over and assess the small wounds, and Bilbo frowned. “How can you bleed, if you’re a doll?” but he answered his own question before the other could answer, “Ah yes, because you have a soul yes? Come on, there are bandages in the kitchen,”

He tugged again on Thorin’s thicker wrist, and the dwarf followed, looking rather stunned when Bilbo sat him down on a chair in the kitchen with his hands resting on a towel while he rummaged around his shelves for supplies. “You’re not angry about the dishes?” he asked when Bilbo sat down opposite him with a roll of linen bandages, a damp cloth and a knife. 

“Good heavens no! Those dishes were a gift from my relatives, we’re not overly fond of one another and they were absolutely atrocious dishes anyhow. I’m glad actually, you’ve given me an excuse to get rid of the confounded things,” he smiled brightly at the other while he started to clean the shallow wounds and cut the bandages. “Now if it had been my mother’s dishes then I would have had some words, but really I think it’s more important that this is the only extent of injury,” he said, wrapping up Thorin’s fingers and quietly wondering to himself how the other had such calloused hands if he was originally a doll.

“It’s because you care so much, that’s why,” Thorin interrupted his thoughts and Bilbo looked up in confusion, meeting his gaze. “The bleeding. You asked me earlier, and it’s the care of my owner that lets me become even more real. I guess that since I am able to bleed then you must care a lot,” he looked a little distant for a moment, and just at that moment they both realized that they were merely inches apart and they both pulled away.

Bilbo cleared his throat and brushed some of his messy curls from his face and returned his attention to tying off the linen cloths. Once he had finished he sat back and began to clear the supplies from the table, “Well I’m glad it was just little wounds, or else we might have had to call for help,” he paused, “No wait… should I…? What if someone came and realized that you weren’t really…” he couldn’t say that Thorin wasn’t real, for one that would probably be insulting, and he _technically_ was real. Yet no one else in the village knew he was now living with someone else, and let alone a dwarf, who was really an enchanted doll, who came to life. For one he couldn’t possibly explain it to anyone, he hadn’t realized that he had been keeping Thorin a secret, even from his closest neighbors, until that moment.

Shaking his head to clear it, he instead reached for a cupboard and drew out a plate, “How about a scone and a cup of tea? We’re a little while before dinner, and I think I’ll make some fish tonight. I got a good pair trout from Hamfast yesterday and I think we can use up the potatoes and the last of the cheese, then I can go to the market and find something for tomorrow night as well!” he distracted himself with getting the kettle ready and plating the scones, but he noticed that Thorin had gone incredibly quiet.

“Thorin?” he stopped, one hand holding the kettle and the other resting on the counter while he rotated his head to better see the raven-haired man who’s head was slightly bowed over his chest.

Just as he was setting the kettle down, Bilbo saw something fall from the other’s face, followed by another, both landing on his freshly bound hands. He approached the other and laid a hand on his shoulder, causing the man to flinch and look up at him, before suddenly looking away. Only then did he realize that what were falling from his face were, in fact, tears. 

Immediately Thorin stood up and pushed away, “Don’t worry, I don’t know why I’m like this,” he quickly rubbed his eyes and resumed his usual, proud stance, crossing his arms across his chest and making a grumbling sound in his throat.

“Are you alright?” Bilbo still stood by the chair, even though Thorin had vacated it, and though his eyes were full of concern, he couldn’t help but think of how real he really was.

Thorin shrugged dismissively, “I’m fine,”

“Shrink back to doll-size for me,” 

The piercing blue eyes finally turned to him, “What? I’m a king, you can’t order me like that—”

“Just do it,” ordered Bilbo rather shortly, waiting for Thorin to do as he asked.

It took him a moment or so to contemplate this, and the surprise was very evident on his face, but Thorin nodded after a time. His form wavered and he shrank, until he was standing on the floor several feet from Bilbo, only five inches off the floor and still holding his arms entwined. It took the hobbit only a second to reach down and pick Thorin up with both hands, bringing him back up and holding him the way he would a distressed child, letting Thorin grip the shirt at his shoulder. The doll stiffened, and Bilbo could very clearly feel the confusion in his movements as Thorin looked at him from the side.

“It’s okay, from what you’ve told me it comes as no surprise that you would react this way,” Bilbo rested his palm to Thorin’s back, “But you’re allowed to cry if you have too, there’s no one here to judge you,” he spoke very softly, like he were calming a frightened animal. Which sometimes is what Thorin felt like, especially with his argumentative attitude.

“But I’m a king, I’m not supposed to—”

“Enough of this ‘king’ stuff for now, you’re still my doll and I want you to feel better,” said Bilbo blatantly, “Whenever you feel like this then just tell me, there’s no shame in it.”

He couldn’t really tell, but Bilbo liked to later believe that Thorin nodded, because even though he didn’t move for a time, he soon pressed his face into Bilbo’s shoulder and relaxed. He could feel the tiny pull of the doll’s hands as they clenched to his shirt, and the warm feel of his hair against his cheek while Bilbo held him. Yet he thought that he heard something, something that Thorin seemed only to be muttering to himself. It sounded like “…I don’t deserve this…” but he didn’t inquire about it. After a time Thorin shifted and they broke apart, Bilbo placing Thorin up on the table again and going to get the kettle that was already starting to whistle. He poured the tea and brought the afternoon snack to the table, sitting down and nibbling on his own cranberry scone while Thorin tore little chunks from his own.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, what exactly do those beads in your hair mean? I saw some runes on them but I wasn’t exactly sure what they were,” he sipped at his tea and leaned his head on his hand, pointing out the twin braids that hung down from Thorin’s temples and ended in shiny, silver beads. 

Looking down at them, Thorin raised an eyebrow, “Its part of dwarven culture, you see. They’re normally made and exchanged between family members, or intimate couples. Each one has a specific meaning and significance, but that is normally only to the giver and the receiver. They also serve as identification sometimes, they show a dwarrow’s identity with the markings and such, and help to identify the owner even in death,” he held out the braid the bead was attached to, “The braids are also important, some dwarrows wear many complex braids, and usually a sign of affection, familiarity or kinship. Braids are a very intimate ritual for some, or most dwarves,”

Bilbo smiled, “Oh? Does that mean you have a little ladylove? A porcelain doll down the street perhaps?” he was glad when he saw the tiny flush of pink in Thorin’s cheeks.

“No! I’m a doll for Durin’s sake, and the only one to come to life so there’s no way I could have a ladylove in the first place,” he looked away, “I was… made with them,” the way he said the word ‘made’ sounded off, as if the word didn’t exactly fit in his mouth at all. Like before, Bilbo didn’t ask about it, though his curiosity was starting to eat away at his resolve.

The two of them continued to chat well into the afternoon, their regular chores forgotten for the time being. Or the fact that Bilbo decided that weeding the vegetable garden could be finished tomorrow; he was enjoying talking with Thorin, especially after seeing such emotion from him earlier.

 After dinner, Bilbo brushed up and readied himself for bed, but instead of taking Thorin to the guest room, he brought the doll with him into his own room.

“I think you missed a door?” Thorin seemed to question this as Bilbo set him down on one of his pillows. 

“Not at all, I think it’s alright if you stay in here tonight. Besides, I need you to wake me up tomorrow, bright and early! I have to get to the market before all of the good meats are gone, we’re going to have a roast tomorrow for dinner!” he finished changing into his lighter sleeping clothes and put his hands on his hips for emphasis.

Thorin looked a little miffed, “Who’s to say I’ll get up before you?” he shifted so that his little feet were splayed on the pillow, even if he stretched out completely he wouldn’t have touched either side of it. Bilbo couldn’t help but find this adorable as he sat down on the bed to brush out his crazy mess of brown hair, pulling the brush through the knots with a wince here and there. 

“I’m counting on you so you’d better, especially if you want more cobbler for dessert tomorrow? I hear that the good ones go very quickly, and that you have to be there early to get them,” he put the brush back and got into bed, wiggling down into the covers with a quiet hum of comfort.

“Is this at dawn or just before?” Bilbo smiled and snuffed out the candle on his bedside, plunging them into darkness while he got comfortable on his own pillow.

 

* * *

 

It was close to morning when Bilbo woke drowsily, he cracked his eyes open just a little to look out the window and see a faint, blue light appearing in the sky. He still had time to snooze a little so he made to move onto his side but he stopped himself. He could feel something tugging very carefully on his hair, and he peeked back to see Thorin sitting on his pillow, with three strands of Bilbo’s curls in his little fingers. From what Bilbo could see in the dim glow of the morning, was that Thorin was quite intently braiding parts of his hair, and humming very, very softly as he did.

Bilbo smiled and didn’t move, but pretended to sleep so that Thorin didn’t stop his braiding of Bilbo’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sweet little chapter here, and a little more light shed on Thorin here, but I'm still going to keep you guys in the dark for a little bit longer~ Heeheee
> 
> I'm so glad that you guys are liking this fic! I've got some art for this chapter posted on my tumblr here: http://arianwen44.tumblr.com/post/133574901879/some-art-for-the-next-chapter-of-treasure-and-i so enjoy!


	4. Bath Towels

            “No Thorin. I’ve already made up my mind about this,” Bilbo was busy fixing his vest over his undershirt, buttoning up the holes in the colourful, red fabric with his favourite brass acorn buttons. He was getting ready to head to the market, for he had heard there had been a good harvest of vegetables for today that he planned to spend most of the afternoon mulling over and browsing through. 

            Behind him on the dresser, Thorin was tapping an angry foot against one of Bilbo’s brushes, a sour expression on his serious face. “You always leave me here, all day long I spend cooped up in this hole or in the back garden. I’m a _king!_ Not some kind of pet!”

            “You are still a doll, technically,” Bilbo straightened his collar and poked Thorin in the forehead while he scooped the doll up and carried him to the kitchen where his grocery basket sat waiting for him.

            “I’ve only been alive for a month, and you still wont treat me like I am,” Thorin growled when Bilbo set him down on the kitchen table.

            Brushing some of his honey-brown curls from his eyes, Bilbo blinked down at the other with a raised eyebrow. “How have I been doing that? I’ve treated you like I would any guest, Thorin,”

            “But I’m _not_ a guest! I’m your—Oh never mind!” he ground his teeth and kicked at a jar on the table, earning a glass-chime from the hollow container. 

            He was going to ask Thorin what he meant, but one glance out of the window and Bilbo gasped. If he didn’t get moving now then he would miss the first wave of vendors, and he refused to miss out on good vegetables and wares. “We can talk more when I get back okay? I’ll try to be back earlier than usual, if you’re so lonely here without me.” He ruffled Thorin’s hair, getting him to snarl and wave at Bilbo’s hand furiously. With that said, Bilbo trotted out the front door and into the early morning air. 

            The Shire was just nearing the beginnings of fall, the air was crisp and fresh, but not cold enough for Bilbo to need a proper jacket. He knew that the sun would rise soon, and everything would warm up by then. He couldn’t even see his breath in front of him, and the sky was barely dotted with any clouds, it was a sign that the day was going to be sunny and bright, a perfect market day. He could hear the chirp of birds in the trees just waking up in their nests, and his feet padded along the cool dirt road that led into town from his hill. He kicked a rock ahead of him playfully, a light skip in his step and a whistle on his lips, his basket bouncing along comfortably in his hand.

            He wouldn’t lie to himself and say he didn’t want to enjoy a morning like this with Thorin, to actually let him out of the house and bring him along to the market. Yet some unbidden and cautious part of him told him it would be a very bad idea, especially in a crowded market. He knew how suspicious hobbits could be, and how they treated others who were different; he didn’t want those funny looks directed at him and Thorin. However, there was one part of him that never wanted to let anyone see Thorin, which never wanted to let him leave the house so that Bilbo could keep him a secret. At first he suspected that this was just because he was afraid of the other hobbits but, and he wouldn’t admit it even to himself, he had a feeling it was a far more selfish reason than that. Ever since Bilbo had been young, he had admired faerie stories and tales of strange, magical things happening to children. Sometimes those things had been wonderful, and sometimes not so wonderful. In Thorin’s case, he was Bilbo’s secret, and he guarded that secret jealously. He didn’t want anyone trying to take Thorin away, or trying to convince him to leave in any way. He didn’t want someone else turning Thorin’s head.

            Deep in his thoughts, Bilbo continued on the path into town, his feet knowing almost exactly where to go after years of following the same route. It had only been a month or so, but already he was selfishly guarding his secret houseguest so protectively that he surprised himself. He guessed it must have been that troublesome Tookish part of him that often liked to cause him more stress than he needed. The Baggins in him told Bilbo that he was being ridiculous, thinking this way about a doll, even though that doll was alive by some magic he couldn’t rightly understand. That side also said that he was being smart in keeping Thorin hidden, because of a hobbit’s general mistrust in anything new and strange.

            This was one of those moments when he truly resented having almost two sets of personalities, and he often acquitted one of these ‘self-argument sessions’ to having far too much coffee in the morning, or a bad case of indigestion. Before long he had arrived in town, and many of the vendors were just finishing setting up their stalls. He straightened his back and let out a breath, the walk had brought a light flush to his cheeks and had invigorated him, preparing him for a long morning and afternoon of shopping.

            He was just browsing from a stand of particularly beautiful tomatoes to one filled with lovely wash towels and dishcloths, when he bumped into someone in front of him. 

            “Oh goodness, I beg your pardon—” he was just about to hold out his hand in apology to the woman he had collided with, when his gut sank as if a heavy stone had been thrown into it.

            “Bilbo Baggins! If I didn’t know any better I would say you were trying to push me over!” fussed Lobelia Sackville-Baggins rather dramatically. She was dressed in the richest, most extravagant green dress, embroidered with little daisy patterns and tiny fluttering birds. In one hand she clutched a ridiculous, matching parasol that couldn’t possibly have been useful, other than for looking ‘important’. Her dark curls hung down from her head neatly, even hair was kept under tight control when it came to Lobelia. She wore an almost permanent grimace on her face, as if she constantly smelled some foul odor that only she could smell. When Bilbo had been young he had often thought up wild stories, one where she has been cursed to forever hold her face in such an expression, and her face had stuck to it. Perhaps she was the source of the ‘if you keep making that face your face will get stuck like that forever’ expression that was told to small hobbits. It would have been a fitting legacy for one such as Lobelia, and Bilbo would not have put much doubt on it either. On her head she wore a large, matching green hat that appeared to have a giant sunflower on it, but even the hat looked as if it were merely perched on her head, almost like it couldn’t bear to be any closer to the woman than it already had to be.

            He shook himself to recover and he reluctantly offered her a pleasant smile, “Good morning Lobelia, you sure are out early today. Looking for something in particular?” the Baggins in him forced him to be congenial, even if the first thing he wanted to do when confronted with his relative was to run for it.

            She sniffed, her face scrunching into that infamous scowl, “Well, certainly not for ugly dish towels, _that’s_ for sure!” she pompously held herself higher, lifting her head while she brushed past the arrangement of linens. Bilbo offered the stall keeper an apologetic glance, before he reverted it back to a smile when Lobelia turned around again. “You have such simple tastes, Bilbo. Really I don’t understand how you spend your money on such trifling, unstylish things. Especially that vest of yours, you really need a better tailor,” 

            Channeling his emotions, Bilbo merely inclined his head to the side, “Really Lobelia, I think my clothing and taste in linens are perfectly sensible. Besides, I’m more selective about my cooking and my foods than I am about fashion, those are the true things to enjoy in life I find,” 

            “Which brings me to my other comment, your cooking lacks finesse Bilbo! Probably because you buy from mediocre vendors, if you shop with me then I can show you exactly what to buy and how to properly prepare it. Your money should be spent suitably, if I should have an opinion on it,” and she had an opinion on everything. Her head shook when she spoke as well, and she held it even higher (if that was entirely possible in Bilbo’s opinion).

            Hoping to change the conversation to one that _wasn’t_ bent on criticizing him, Bilbo rubbed the back of his head; “Your hat is very impressive Lobelia, where did you get it?”

            Looking up at her hat, a look of deep satisfaction came over Lobelia’s features, “I had it commissioned, specifically made and brought all the way from a hatter’s in Bree,” she flicked the rim and the cloth petals on the sunflower fluttered in the breeze. In Bilbo’s opinion it was the most god-awful hat that he had ever laid eyes upon, but the Baggins in him chided him to be polite. However, his Tookish side wanted to grab that hat off of her head and see how far it would make to the river before dropping into the mud, he had to suppress this however and remain pleasant.

            “It truly is a sight to see,” he said as he returned his eyes to the towels. Maybe he would get a set for Thorin? He could have them embroidered with his initials, and make his staying at Bilbo’s rather official. The thought brought an actual, genuine smile to his face and he was considering a set of towels with blue and green needlework when Lobelia had to interrupt his thoughts again.

            “Have you heard what I’ve been saying to you Bilbo Baggins?” the woman beside him said haughtily, looking quite offended by his lack of attention towards her.

            Bilbo blinked at her, “Hmmn? Sorry I was distracted for a moment,” 

            “I should say so!” she huffed, brushing her controlled hair from her neck, “To make up for your lapse in concentration I will repeat myself. I have heard a few rumors floating around about you lately,”

            “Rumors?”

            “Yes, I hear from some that you have a guest?” she examined his expression, waiting for any kind of tiny hint that her words were true.

            Thankfully he had dealt with her for so many years now that he knew how to keep his face still of any quick responses. “A guest? What do you mean?”

            “People are talking, saying that they can hear you talking to yourself in your garden sometimes, but then they hear someone _answering_ you? You’re also buying much more food than you could possibly eat yourself, unless you’re buying for more than just yourself. Tell me Bilbo, you’re not hiding something are you?” she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

             “What? Whatever would give people that idea? Honestly I can’t talk to myself in my own garden?” he crossed his arms and turned to look around at the tomatoes again, trying to end the conversation.

            She waved her parasol, “That’s just it! You spend too much time alone up there that—AH!!!” Lobelia’s sudden scream nearly sent Bilbo tipping into the tomato cart with shock, and also drew almost every eye in the vicinity to them. When Bilbo looked up in confusion at her, she was pointing at him with horror on her normally scrutinizing face. 

            “Your back! There’s something on your back!” she squealed.

            Frowning, Bilbo craned his neck to look over his shoulder, and yelped. Attached rather tightly to the back of his vest, clinging with iron-like grip, was Thorin. At his doll size and completely still, Thorin gripped the fabric of Bilbo’s vest and glared up at him with a glassy, but piercing, stare.

            “Wah! How did you get there!?” he reached back and plucked Thorin from his back, holding him up by his ‘scruff’ as he usually did when he was scolding the other. Thorin remained still and silent, much to Bilbo’s relief.

            “What _is_ that Bilbo?” Lobelia hissed to him, and thankfully the attention of the marketplace was dissipating now that things seemed to be relatively at ease again.

            He sighed and held Thorin up for her to see, “He’s a little doll that Gandalf gave me for my birthday, he must have gotten caught on my vest when I left the house.

             Lobelia gazed at the doll, who glared back at her. If only she knew that the doll was _actually_ looking at her, then she probably wouldn’t have said what she did. “Honestly it’s an ugly little thing, it’s a dwarf isn’t it? Nasty, horrible, dirty things, dwarves. Why would you keep a doll of one Bilbo?” he could practically feel the rage emanating from Thorin, and he prayed that he would endure for just a moment longer.

            “Because, I do get rather lonely sometimes, and it’s nice to have someone to talk too. Besides, I think he’s quite handsome, so you would do well not to insult him,” he rested Thorin down into the basket he was carrying at his hip, the doll just barely peeking out from the lip.

            “It’s a _doll_ Bilbo. It's not like it has feelings,” she shook her head, “You sure are strange,” 

            He smiled brightly at her, “I am quite content with myself thank you, now if you’ll excuse me I hear there is a vendor that sells particularly good watermelons. I must be off. Always a pleasure to see you, Lobelia,” he waved dismissively and dashed off before she could truly wrap her head around what had happened.

 

* * *

 

            Bilbo slumped down against a tall oak tree by the river, letting out a loud sigh of relief that he had escaped his relative. He looked around after a moment to make sure he was alone, and then he picked Thorin out of the basket and gave him a reprimanding frown.

            “I told you to stay at the house,” he said, poking Thorin in the chest.

            “I am a king, I can do what I want,” Thorin replied shortly.

            Bilbo groaned, “I’m not going to get into another debate Thorin… really I wanted you to stay at home. You nearly frightened the skin off of my bones, and with the whole marketplace watching to boot!”

            “It’s torturous, sitting in that hole all day alone. You’re supposed to love me, not abandon me all the time!” the doll sat down on Bilbo’s knees, his little cloak draping over the tops of Bilbo’s shins.

            “Really… it’s not that exciting to go to the market you know,”

            “Then why do you always go?” Thorin countered.

            The hobbit scratched the back of his head, “Because! I enjoy simple things, especially shopping for food and household things,”

            “I want to experience what you get to experience,” Thorin said with a small glare that was directed to the ground, deriving a small, curious look from Bilbo. “I don’t want to live if I have to keep pretending to be a doll, if I can walk about like you do I don’t want to just sit and wait all the time. I’ve done enough sitting and waiting for a lifetime, a lifetime I never truly got to live,”

            At this, Bilbo stayed silent. He couldn’t think of any other argument that could oppose the other’s words. Brought up short of a response, he sat back against the trunk of the tree, letting the breeze ruffle his hair for a time while he processed Thorin’s words.

            “Very well,” he sighed after a time, “but for now you have to stay as a doll, and you’ll have to ride in the basket, those are your conditions,” when Thorin was about to protest, Bilbo picked him up and placed him into the basket. He got to his feet and stretched, before he lifted the basket and cradled it in the crook of his arm where Thorin could look out properly. “I promise, the next time I go to the market you can come with me, as your regular size.” With that, the two of them marched back into the marketplace, Bilbo keeping a vigilant eye out for a particularly awful hat, so that he could better avoid his relative and enjoy a nice day at the market with Thorin.

            He was pleased to say that the bought the towels on his way home that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big WHOPPER of a chapter this one... and now we've gotten a little glimpse of Lobelia... Honestly she's so fun to write, I couldn't stop the words pouring out of me xD
> 
> Also these two are killing me, such domestic sweethearts <3  
> This chapter has ART!!! http://arianwen44.tumblr.com/post/133775235529/some-art-for-the-new-chapter-of-treasure-a-little


	5. Broken Glass

           “What are these for?” Thorin held up a towel with an embroidered ‘T’ on the corner, along with blue, geometric flowers. He was sitting on the table next to Bilbo as the hobbit was sewing something rather intently. Because Thorin was in his doll size, the towel was bigger than he was, and he had to peek out from behind it as it folded over his head and down his back.

            Bilbo smiled at him from where he was sewing and straightened out the piece of cloth in his hands. “They’re for you, official hand and bath towels. I bought you some so that you have your own when you take a bath or wash your hands, I even bought you a handkerchief,” he nodded towards the pile on the desk of new towels.

            “Am I not allowed to use yours anymore?” the doll sounded offended while he pushed the towel off of himself, looking down on the geometric ‘T’ that was staring back up at him.

            “What do you mean? You don’t like having your own?”

            Thorin huffed, poking at the threadwork, “But you don’t like me using your own towels? That’s not very hospitable,” he had an expression on his face that led Bilbo to believe that he hated the towels, because his dark brows were knit in a tiny little frown. 

            Shoulders sinking, Bilbo looked very visually saddened as he picked up the towels again, “I thought you’d be excited… having your own towels makes you living with me official. I can take them back tomorrow if you’d like,” Thorin appeared surprised, and when Bilbo made to take the hand towel that Thorin was looking at he flinched. 

            A confused squeak came from Thorin as he clutched at the small towel, “No! No never mind, I like them…” he held the towel in his hand with a tiny, stubborn growl. Bilbo paused and then started to giggle, putting the towels back down on the table and resuming his previous sewing.

            “Well then why didn’t you say so? You’re very indecisive Thorin,” his fingers worked quickly over the cloth, pushing and pulling the needle while he sewed. Thorin was still holding his hand towel while he curiously peeked over Bilbo’s arm to see just what it was he was making. So far the little piece of fabric was hard to discern, but Thorin did see a dark, black colour with a gold and blue pattern. Yet just as he was pulling a little closer, Bilbo withdrew his hand and made a clucking sound, much like a mother hen, “No peeking! It’s supposed to be a surprise,”

            “How is it a surprise when you’re making it right in front of me?” the doll countered. 

            Laughing and putting down his needle, tying off the thread before he broke the excess off, Bilbo held up the fabric. “It is now isn’t it?” 

            The cloth was actually a fancy little black coat with beautiful gold stars and blue hexagons at the trim. The coat was accompanied by a smart, but tiny, blue vest with tiny gold buttons. Thorin stared at the outfit as Bilbo held it out to him, and to the doll it was just the right size, and he held it up at arms length to admire it. He glanced from Bilbo to the outfit, a confused look in his blue eyes. “What is this for?” he couldn’t seem to think of the right reaction.

            Grinning, Bilbo nodded to the outfit, “Get changed, I want to see you in it! I made it for you, it’s always nice to have more than one outfit. No arguing! Go and put it on,” he waved his hand dismissively for Thorin to go and try on the outfit.

            Eyes widening, Thorin blinked and he trotted off behind a pile of books that were sitting on the table. Bilbo was in the midst of sewing something else when the doll came out from behind the books, dressed in the little jacket and the vest. Thorin held up his arms and looked about, stretching here and there to check the fit while Bilbo looked up and made a tiny trill.

            “It feels strange… a lot different than my other clothes,” Thorin remarked as Bilbo placed a small hand-mirror in front of him so he could admire himself. “But they are nice, you have a good eye for detail, much like a dwarf,”

            “Is that a compliment?” Bilbo smiled, unable to truly take the other very seriously at this size, though he never would have made fun of him. 

            Thorin reserved himself, “Maybe…” 

            “Oh! I also made you this,” he held up another outfit, but it was far plainer than the fancy one that Thorin had on. “It’s for everyday use, so you don’t get your nicer clothes dirty if you’re in the garden or the kitchen. Besides, you need an outfit to come with me to the market too, I wont have you going out looking like some fancy, trussed-up show pony!”

            “Are you saying my regular clothes are too flashy?” Thorin retorted with a snarl, balling his hands into little fists. “My clothes are far more cultural and befitting my station as King Under the Mountain!”

            “Goodness you certainly are taking this the wrong way,” Bilbo leaned his head on his hand and relaxed against the table, poking Thorin in the chest and making the little gold buttons click together, “I made these because they fit hobbits more, since you’re living with one. I don’t like it when others see you and call you ‘ugly’ just because you’re in clothing they don’t know. Besides, Mr. King Under the Table, you’re going to need more than one outfit if you’re going to live here, it’s just not proper to wear the same clothing all the time, even if you _are_ a doll,” The poke made Thorin flinch again, but even though he was glaring back at the other he appeared slightly ashamed. He regarded the new clothing again with new eyes, and seemed to reconsider it.

            Sighing heavily, he nodded, “Very well… it does make sense when you put it like that. But I’m the King Under the Mountain! Not under the table!” he snarled stubbornly, but Bilbo thought he caught a tiny, happy smile on his face while he admired his new clothing in the mirror put out for him.

            “Really the only thing you’re going to be king of here is the cookie jar at this rate, for a little dwarf you certainly are a very cranky, very stubborn one,” Bilbo rose and stretched, offering one hand to the doll, “Come on now, we have to get ready, it’s nearly four!”

            “What do you have at four?” he let Bilbo pick him up, and sat quite comfortably on the hobbit’s shoulder as he moved around the house, picking up things and straightening others, waiting for the kettle to boil on the stove.

            Humming to himself, Bilbo put a plate of fancy biscuits on the table, “I have my cousins, Drogo and Primula coming for tea with their boy, I ran into them a few weeks back at market and invited them to tea. I haven’t met their boy yet so I figured it was a good idea,”

            “I _knew_ it!” Thorin shouted, causing Bilbo to jump and nearly knock the doll from his shoulder. “I knew you weren’t being generous or fancy about the clothes for nothing! You always have an ulterior motive!” he smirked, appearing quite content with himself, a smug look on his face while Bilbo frowned and put him down on the table.

            “What? No! That’s a completely different thing Thorin!” he flushed a little and Thorin’s grin widened.

            “No, it is! You’re just as sneaky as ever, new towels and jackets, I should have known there was something else going on, and I _did!_ ” he swiped a cookie and sat back with it, taking a bite from the corner.

            Bilbo snatched the plate away before Thorin could take any more of the cookies, “Of course not! It may have factored in, but I made these because I wanted to make something for you. If you don’t like them then give them back and I’ll toss them and you can wear the same grubby clothing for all I care!” he turned his nose up and moved away, his ears a little red at the tip with anger. He had originally thought of making outfits for Thorin just because it would be nice to have other things for him to wear, as he had said. Then he had remembered his tea with his cousins and made the outfits very much for that day in particular, just so that Thorin had something nice to wear that was new. He still wasn’t sure about the ordinary-day clothes, but he did make the outfit so that it was a possibility. Bilbo knew he wasn’t ready to let Thorin out with him, or introduce him as his living, breathing form just yet. But it was a possibility in the near future; he just needed time to figure out what to say.

            He got a strange sense from behind him then, because Thorin was being oddly quiet. He was just about to turn around when he felt a hand against his shoulder; a large, incredibly warm hand whose weight was somewhat surprising, and somehow comforting to the hobbit as he froze where he was. Thorin had changed his size, Bilbo could tell that much at least by the size of the hand behind him. The hand’s weight shifted and turned Bilbo around to face the harsh, blue eyes. He felt his heart skip a short beat for a moment, but he kept his face steeled in an unimpressed half-frown.

            “I apologize… I, I like the clothing, thank you,” it was almost like Thorin was having a hard time speaking, and Bilbo had to hide his expression with a quick smile and a shake of his head. 

            “Never mind, no harm done! But I have to get ready for tea, they’ll be here any minute now!” he tried to brush the other’s hand off of his shoulder, but Thorin didn’t move it right away. He paused and couldn’t seem to understand Bilbo’s reaction, but after a time he slowly retracted his arm and let it fall to his side. Bilbo smiled and patted the other gently, “Oh, I’ll make sure to make you some cobbler for dessert tonight. Though I do need you to stay as a doll for now, just for now alright?” There was a silence and Bilbo turned around again, only to see Thorin sitting on the edge of the table completely still and in doll form once again.

 

 

            After a time his guests arrived, and Bilbo had managed to set out plates of cookies in the sitting room, tea warming in the pot as well as a second pot already simmering on the stove. He had changed into his good, but still casual clothes for it would have looked odd for him to wear a full vest indoors. Instead he wore a pair of smart, green corduroy trousers with the straps over his shoulders and neatly clasped with brass buttons. His shirt was pressed and neat, though he couldn’t say the same for his curls, though his hair was hard to tame no matter what.

            Primula and Drogo were fine folk, and Bilbo wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought to invite them over sooner. They came dressed in similarly casual clothes, though he could see they had tried to comb out their sons curls, which seemed just as wild as Bilbo’s own hair. The boy was small for a hobbit child, and quite shy as well. He was ever so polite, especially when asked if he wanted a cup of tea, he only gave a very small nod and a smile to Bilbo.

            Bilbo had made sure to place Thorin on one of the tables in the living room, leaning on a flower vase with a plate of sugar cookies, so that he knew not to move hopefully, and that he wouldn’t feel left out at all. The little doll’s stern face seemed to fascinate Frodo to no end, and the small boy couldn’t help staring at him while sitting in the chair nearby, kicking his feet and nibbling on a biscuit. Bilbo found this rather cute as he went on to discuss recipe books and other such things with his cousins over tea. He laughed and found himself enjoying the outside company for once, and soon forgot about the doll on the table for a little while. He felt relaxed again, almost normal, especially since his cousins weren’t dogging him about what kind of rumors were surrounding Bilbo at the time.

            Though just as he was thinking this, Drogo put down his teacup and spoke, “So, I’ve heard some nasty bit of news floating about,” he nodded to the doll that Frodo was so fascinated with, “Your doll over there reminded me, I heard of this dwarven doll that comes to life ad attacks its owners. I heard of one child who ended up being burned by it? It’s quite spooky…” he narrowed his eyes a little at the doll, “Yours is dwarven make, is it not?”

            Bilbo pulled back, “Yes he is, though I can assure you nothing strange has happened. He’s quite handsome I think,” he laughed, brushing off the subject easily, and trying not to show how uncomfortable he was feeling about it.

            “Oh no!” trilled Primula, “We didn’t say anything like that, we were just worried a little because of those rumors. But I think he’s just charming with those clothes! Frodo loves him, be careful cousin or he might try to steal him!” she giggled and a chorus of cheerful laughter came up between them. Frodo smiled over to them, he was swiping another cookie from the plate in front of Thorin, and at the mention of his name he trotted over to sit on his mother’s lap with his cookie. “This little rascal has a habit of getting into trouble, much like another certain gentle-hobbit that we know,” she looked at Bilbo with a smug, knowing grin.

            He flushed and rubbed the back of his head while his ears burned, “Oh come now I didn’t get into _that_ much trouble!” when both Primula and Drogo cleared their throats he sighed in defeat, “Alright… maybe it’s the family influence?”

            “Oh the _family?”_ said Drogo, rolling his eyes enthusiastically, “The _family_ couldn’t have had that much influence, other than frightening the lad. We ran into Lobelia a few weeks back and I swear she was close to making the poor boy cry,” he shook his head along with Primula, the both of them making imitation expressions of Lobelia’s scowl. Bilbo had to laugh, holding his hand to his mouth with his teacup and hiding behind it while the four of them started to chuckle.

            Yet they were brought up short when they heard the distinct sound of shattering glass, and all four jumped in surprise. Bilbo spun around and saw that Thorin was still sitting up straight, though his hand had moved and the vase he had been leaning on was broken in pieces on the floor. He first looked worried, but then saw the slightly sour look on Thorin’s face and he pieced the situation together. Bilbo frowned at Thorin before he got up to start picking up the glass.

            “I’m glad that was only the vase I found at the market during the spring festival, and not mother’s favourite flower jar!” he chuckled, trying to brush off the scenario as he grabbed a cloth nearby and started to clean up the glass. Thankfully it was mostly large pieces, he could come back around later and sweep up the smaller bits. 

            Frodo hobbled over, and let out a small whine, “Didn’t the doll have its hands in its lap before…?” he looked fearfully at Bilbo, then to his parents.

            “No, no dear boy, I’m positive I just placed him a little too heavily against the vase and it slipped!” he patted the boy on the shoulder, “But stay away while I clean this up, don’t want to get any cuts now right?” he smiled at Frodo encouragingly and passed him the plate of cookies to take back to his seat.

            Afterwards he brought about a different conversation, and kept it away from dolls and strange magic until his cousins left near dinnertime. Once he finished cleaning up the last of the glass, and the tea dishes, he returned to the living room to see Thorin standing at his full height, glaring at him hatefully.

            Yet it was Bilbo who spoke first, “What in the world were you _thinking_ Thorin?!” he fumed, his hands clenched at his sides furiously. “Here I am, trying to keep rumors off of your back about you being some ‘cursed’ doll, and you knock over one of my good flower vases and scare my nephew! Are you thick?” he glared at the dwarf, who merely gazed scathingly back at him.

            “The brat was getting nosey. They were annoying me, and took up far too much time with you,” he growled deeply, only fueling Bilbo’s anger.

            “Frodo _liked_ you! For heaven’s sake! Thorin there’s no proper excuse for what you did! It was rude and frightening! The poor boy was going to cry!” he huffed and turned towards the kitchen, “I’m _not_ making that cobbler tonight, that’s what you get for breaking my things, you thick-headed porcelain dunce!”

            A second and he felt something hard at his back and an arm around his chest and waist. Bilbo stiffened and felt a little fearful, until he felt Thorin rest his weight slightly onto his back non-threateningly. The hobbit didn’t say anything for a moment, but he turned to look back at the other only to see a mess of dark hair at his shoulder.

            “I just… didn’t like that they were taking all your attention… you’re only supposed to give it to me…” he said, though his voice was muffled in Bilbo’s shirt, “I don’t understand why I feel like this… my chest is tight and I can’t think straight,” he muttered quietly.

            At that, Bilbo turned back around, “Thorin…? Can you shrink back for me?” Thorin moved a little, but he nodded and Bilbo felt the weight on his back slowly lessen as Thorin shrank until he was clinging to Bilbo’s shirt to keep him up.

            Once he knew Thorin was smaller again, he picked him off of his back and moved to sit down in the sitting room. He lifted the other so he was sitting on Bilbo’s knees. “I get it now, really it wasn’t that complicated,” when he got the confused frown from the doll, he smiled, “You were jealous Thorin, that’s why you did those things. Jealousy… to think a stubborn guy like you didn’t understand what _jealousy_ was,” he rubbed the other’s head with a laugh, and Thorin growled angrily in response. 

            “I was not! I was just… just—”

            “ _Jealous._ Thorin that’s all, and it’s not a bad thing. I think it’s cute,” he chuckled.

            “It is not, I am not!”

            At this, Bilbo could only continue smiling and laughing as he did, nodding and dismissing the other’s arguments while he got up and brought them to the kitchen to start dinner. Things certainly had turned upside down since the other had shown up, and probably for the better. He felt like he had new things to enjoy now that he wasn’t alone, and was happy to actually have someone to talk to, despite the rumors floating around. He found that really, when it came to the rumors, he didn’t care anymore.

 

* * *

 

       

     Early the next morning, when the sky was still blue outside, Bilbo woke once again to something playing with his hair. He had grown used to Thorin braiding his hair in the mornings before he woke up, but the braids always fell out before he fully woke because Thorin never had anything to tie them with. He sighed and was about to fall asleep again when he felt the doll pause in his braiding. Bilbo didn’t move, he didn’t want the other to know that he was almost always awake when he did this. But somehow something was different. He felt a weight on his chest and the bed shift only a little, which told him that Thorin must have been in his other, life-like form. Bilbo was still far too hazy with sleep to really realize what was going on, and his reactions were slow.

            It was just when he was about to ‘wake up’ when he felt warmth on his face. He frowned very minimally and cracked one eye open, hopefully with the dim light Thorin wouldn’t notice. The other was leaning over him, his face merely inches from his own. He was so close that he could feel the warmth from Thorin on his cheeks, and with his sleep-muddled brain Bilbo could only think that it was a very pleasant warmth. Bilbo was asleep again in moments, though Thorin stayed where he was, hovered over him, for a long time after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the latest chapter is quite long~ A treat for you guys since I'll be away for the next few weeks due to finals and production crap and everything ^^' don't hate meeeeee


	6. The Afternoon Market

 

            Frost dusted the ground outside in a fine white that reminded Bilbo of the powdered sugar he would sometimes put on pancakes. He looked out of his bedroom window and felt a shiver run up his spine while he clutched his multicolored housecoat to his body in an attempt to keep warm. Rubbing his feet together he shuddered and shuffled from the room to go and start breakfast, wondering if the market would still have some last harvest vegetables on a day like today, he wanted to stock up if winter was on its way.

            It had been several weeks since his cousins had visited, and since Thorin broke the vase out of jealousy. The dwarf was constantly griping about not going out with Bilbo, and the hobbit would sometimes find a doll-sized stowaway in his basket halfway through his market browsing, or attached to his back. He knew he would have to let Thorin accompany him sometime, especially for the fact that he was hearing odd things circulating around town about him talking to some hidden guest on some days, but acting completely and normally alone on others. Though he had no doubt that these were helped along by Lobelia, Bilbo paid them no heed normally, but they still bothered him from time to time when he was deep in thought. He would have to bring Thorin with him at some point, he just wasn’t sure if he was ready just yet. 

When he arrived in the kitchen, a glum, dark-haired, sour-faced dwarf sitting at the table looking out of the kitchen window greeted Bilbo. His blue eyes were distant, and Bilbo had the feeling that Thorin hadn’t noticed him just yet. He was wearing the casual clothes that Bilbo had sewn for him, probably because they were more comfortable and easier to work in around the house. Bilbo smiled and cleared his throat, just in time to see the other’s head whip around towards him, the beads clinking in his hair as he did.

“Admiring the morning?” he tilted his head to one side as he came into the kitchen, looking to start breakfast for them. He only received a grunt in reply, Thorin turning his head back towards the window and as he did Bilbo caught a slight longing look in his gaze. Bilbo couldn’t help but idly lift his hand to touch the tiny braid sitting just behind his ear, concealed mostly within his curls. He had left strings for Thorin to tie up the braids he made at night without saying a word, and the other had forgotten to remove one of them before going to sleep. So Bilbo had kept it in, and he liked the thought of it somehow. “Well that was anti-climactic,” he muttered, knitting his brows into a slight frown, “Something wrong?”

Thorin looked back at him while Bilbo set out the kettle for tea, “Wrong? Of _course_ something’s _wrong!_ ” he motioned to the other, “You’ve had me trapped here for months! Doing chores and fixing things around the house, the only bit of the outside world I get to see is the garden and _sometimes_ glimpses of the market when you’re not shoving me down into that confounded basket of yours! I have half a mind to waltz out of here right now just because I’ve been cooped up in this infernal hole for what feels like decades!”

Bilbo blinked at him, his eyes lit up in surprise. Had it truly been months since he had gotten Thorin? How long had it actually been since Thorin had started coming to life? He had to shake himself in order to clear his head and speak once more, and when he did he blurted out his words, “Then why not come with me to the market today? I wanted to get the last vegetables from the farmers, and maybe some more fabric for more of your outfits. I have an extra scarf or two, you can bundle up in those and we can go after breakfast,” before the words even left his mouth, Bilbo could see the expression on Thorin’s face change from frustration, to that of disbelief.

“Wait… I can go out?” 

“Yes,”

“Not my doll size?”

“Not your doll size,” Bilbo reassured, though his inner Baggins was telling him that it was a _horrific_ idea and that he should have kept his mouth shut a little while longer. He mentally threw the thought aside and smiled at Thorin, “I think it’s a good time to go, though it will be cold out. How about we go after breakfast?”

If Thorin was going to reply, Bilbo didn’t hear it, at that second the kettle started to wail and he had to turn around to get it. He also had to hide the slight colouring in his cheeks when he saw the smile slowly tugging at Thorin’s face. He started to set things out for breakfast, and used the busy motions to school his face back into a more Baggins-approved expression. His hand came up absentmindedly to brush the braid behind his ear, and he couldn’t help the tingly feeling in his gut, but it was quickly forgotten when he poured out the tea and set out the plates for their meal. The market certainly would be interesting today, and he wasn’t exactly sure how he would be able to handle it.

 _Oh well,_ he thought as he dished eggs onto a plate, _I can’t keep him locked up in the house forever. Sooner or later he would have followed me out whether I liked it or not!_ Though he still had a strange, sinking feeling in his stomach all the same.

  

 

The ground was cold beneath their feet as they walked to the market, breath clouding in vapor-puffs in front of their faces as they went. Bilbo had wrapped himself up in a comfortable yellow scarf that was probably two-sizes too big for him, but it kept him warm so he didn’t really much care. He had thrown on his thicker, red walking coat that kept out most of the chill, except for one small gap right at his chest where the buttons didn’t reach, he had to keep stuffing his scarf into the hole but it kept slipping due to the movement. Thorin had dressed, reluctantly, in one of Bilbo’s sweaters that he had gotten years ago from a family member, the sweater had also been far too big for him, but Bilbo was glad he hadn’t given it away. It was large enough for Thorin, and had a green design across the chest that looked like hexagons, though Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure. Thorin also had a blue scarf wrapped around his neck that was always getting tangled with his beard somehow, and he complained that it itched a great deal.

The market loomed before them, and suddenly Thorin seemed to forget the itchy scarf and the old sweater. He dragged Bilbo between stalls, looking at everything from tea sets, late vegetables and squashes, to early Yule decorations and handmade wreaths. Bilbo followed behind diligently, and tried to ignore the odd looks he got from some of the shoppers milling about the market.

“Look! These are close to dwarven make!” Thorin held up a brooch in his hand, inspecting the trinket carefully. “Though not as much close attention to detail, the stones aren’t proper quality and they might fall out… a simple repair job though!” the stall keeper gave them a sour look, particularly directed at Bilbo who felt his ears burn, and not in a pleasant sort of manner.

After a while of Bilbo treading along behind Thorin, he caught the other by the arm and took him aside. When Thorin gave Bilbo a confused look, the hobbit bit his lower lip and absentmindedly played with the braid behind his ear. “Thorin, you need to tone things down a little…”

“How come?”

“Because… hobbits aren’t, well, used to this kind of…” he searched carefully for the right word, “enthusiasm. Some of your words are rather insulting, though I can tell you mean the right thing but it’s just not what we do here,” Bilbo made sure to explain very meticulously, and chose his words with care.

Thorin straightened and looked about, only then did he notice a few of the odd looks being thrown their way, and the few hobbits leaning towards one another with tight lips and whispered comments. “Are your kind usually this apprehensive?” 

Nodding, Bilbo ran a hand through his curls, “Yes, and I understand that you’re excited, just maybe keep a little to yourself? For the time-being anyways, just so that everyone gets used to you,” the Took side of him was kicking itself very angrily right now, and Bilbo had to shush it to keep a flush from forming on his cheeks. 

“But we dwarves, even dwarven dolls, aren’t _this_ cautious,” Thorin pointed out as they started walking again, now keeping his movements slow and his hands to himself, for now.

“Well, I guess that’s what makes us different,” shrugging, Bilbo walked with him, admiring a set of particularly nice spoons a vendor was displaying on a red cloth. 

There was a short silence, before, “I don’t find us that different, aside from height and a few cultural differences, we’re very similar, you and I,” Thorin seemed to realize what he had said the moment Bilbo turned a curious glance to him, and Bilbo could _swear_ that he saw the slightest hints of a blush in the dwarf’s cheeks before he quickly turned his head away.

Yet Bilbo didn’t have the chance to comment on this, for even as he was about to smile and reply, he heard a gut-wrenching, nails-on-chalkboard sound. “Bilbo Baggins! Who on _earth_ are you walking with?!”

He rotated on the spot almost painfully, and offered a congenial, but fake smile, “Good afternoon, Lobelia. Enjoying the market today are we?”

“Hardly,” the woman scowled her usual, sickened scowl and looked up and down at Thorin, “Is this the stranger you’ve been rumored to have been hiding in your house, talking to you at odd times of the day?”

“Odd times? I’m not entirely sure what you mean,” Bilbo’s shoulders fell just a little bit and he could see Thorin’s head shift as he looked between them in confusion. The dwarf caught on quickly though, for he soon stood a little taller and appeared a little more defensive. 

Lobelia sniffed, “Of _course_ you do! Honestly Bilbo, you’ve been harboring _dwarves_ in your home? Of all the unsanitary, foreign things Bilbo! How are you ever supposed to hold up the good name of ‘Baggins’ if you don’t treat to the proper kinds of house guests?” each time Lobelia took a breath, Bilbo seemed to flinch, though he seemed to grow more angry by the syllable, not meek. Every inch of the Baggins within him was screaming at him to just take it, to deal with her criticism and take a breather when she had finished. The Took side of him wanted nothing more than to take the horribly puffy dress she wore and flip her upside down with it, just to see how long it would take her to roll back onto her feet again of course. 

While Bilbo dealt with his inner, and outer battles, Thorin stiffened at his side the moment Lobelia started to wail on him as well as Bilbo. The hobbit thought he saw a small spark in those blue eyes, and he instantly felt like they should be walking away before it was too late. 

But it already was.

“Excuse me, but _unsanitary? Foreign? Not the ‘proper’ kind of house guest?_ I think, my good woman, that you yourself are the most unsanitary, rude little thing to have ever crossed my path! Out of all the owners I have had you are probably the _worst_ person I could have encountered! You insult Bilbo, who has been nothing but a genuinely kind host and partner with no logical provocations,” Thorin was practically fuming, Bilbo was staring at him in wide-eyed shock. “If you’re going to openly insult us, then I think I am allowed to do the same. Your dress looks like a cake had some affair with a tea-cozy, I swear your hat could smother a horse if you placed it on its head, and your face could curdle milk if you got too close to it! You, _madam_ are the unsanitary character here, _not_ me. Now if you don’t mind, we’ll say ‘good day’ to you and leave you to your much-admired self idolizing!” he nodded once curtly with his head, linked arms with a very stunned Bilbo, and marched them off to another end of the market, leaving Lobelia Sackville-Baggins with her mouth agape and her face frozen in a look of utter bewilderment.

 

Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but when he raised his eyes to Thorin’s face, he saw the tips of his ears red and his dark brows drawn down in a deep frown. Yet throughout all this, he was grinning, and somehow it was contagious, because Bilbo found himself smiling recklessly along with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS/HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!! Here's my gift to you all, a lovely little chapter with our favourite hobbit and dwarf~ 
> 
> (I hope everything is lovely for everyone this year, and I'd love to hear your comments on the story so far!!)

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea that struck me in the middle of the night, and inspired by an old manga I loved years and years ago called Lovers Doll (go read it! It's sweet and adorable as hell!) And I decided to make a Hobbit AU about it, and come on, how can a little mini-Thorin stomping about NOT be cute? 
> 
> I've wanted to write a Hobbit fic for a long time, so I welcome comments!!


End file.
